


someday, you'll wake up to better things

by punkrockbadger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkrockbadger/pseuds/punkrockbadger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s going to be okay, Lil. He’s your kid, after all.” James chuckles softly, and Lily knows this is not the laugh she fell in love with, because this is thick with tears and sorrow, not the exuberant sound she remembers echoing over the grounds of Hogwarts.</p><p>“He’s yours too.” She leans into him, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater to keep at least this boy of hers near her. “He’ll make it.”</p><p>“Harry’s always been a fighter.” James says, kissing the top of her head, and they reluctantly pull apart as dawn breaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	someday, you'll wake up to better things

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is just one of those pieces that the author is never going to be happy about, no matter how much editing they do, so here's my take on this post (http://snapsandprongsforever.tumblr.com/post/102134333100/lifeanddragons-but-seriously-i-can-just).
> 
> Song Recommendation: Briane, by Boyce Avenue

They are watching already, when Dumbledore places their son on Petunia’s doorstep in the middle of the night. McGonagall's temper boils as she begs him not to leave Harry there, please, and James adds his voice to hers. He has met Petunia only twice, but he knows she's horrid just as well as Lily, who's known her for what feels like far too long, does.

James whispers prayers in every language he can think of, breaths coming in soft, strained puffs, to every deity he can think of. His eyes squeeze shut as his palms press tightly together, and Lily looks around this terrifyingly, blindingly white space in fear because, by all rights, they should be spending another night complaining about how Harry won’t sleep through the night unless he’s in their bed.

Lily prayed every night for years, just as her mother had taught her to, but whatever god smiled upon them today was not one she wanted to praise and definitely not one she would trust with her son’s future. She looks over at her husband, who is seeking strength in others, grabbing for anything that might offer their son some comfort, any small blessing that might see him through without them to protect him, and wonders how he can still believe in something higher after all of this.

But James has always been like that, his heart swelling with belief and trust and hope, and she clings tightly to him, wraps her fingers around his arm as he grits his teeth.

It has been two hours since Dumbledore left and no one has come for their boy.

Harry wiggles in his sleep, clutching an edge of his blanket in a little fist, and Lily bites back a sob as he shivers, eyelid fluttering for a second before he slips back into sleep.

“James, they—they just—“ Lily croaks out and James nods, pausing for a second to gather her up into his arms. “They just—Our Harry—He’s—“

“He’s going to be okay, Lil. He’s your kid, after all.” James chuckles softly, and Lily knows this is not the laugh she fell in love with, because this is thick with tears and sorrow, not the exuberant sound she remembers echoing over the grounds of Hogwarts.

“He’s yours too.” She leans into him, grabbing fistfuls of his sweater to keep at least this boy of hers near her. “He’ll make it.”

“Harry’s always been a fighter.” James says, kissing the top of her head, and they reluctantly pull apart as dawn breaks.

* * *

Harry wakes as the rays of sunlight play over his face, slowly opening green eyes to the orange and pink sky, and Lily finally gives in to her tears as he runs his tongue over his few teeth before calling out for her, just as he’d done every morning since he could sleep. He shivers, teeth chattering, before realizing his surroundings aren’t the ones he knows, and lets out a piercing cry from where he’s been left among milk bottles and newspapers.

Petunia opens the door and gasps loudly before looking about and quickly snatching up the bundle of blankets and hurrying inside, and Lily draws on James for courage and allows herself to believe in the goodness of her sister, the sister she remembers from their early days, who made her daisy chains to put in her hair and always picked the smaller cookie if Lily asked nicely enough.

They do not put Harry back outside, and Lily heaves a sigh of relief, turning back to James, who holds her tight, swaying back and forth like they used to in their kitchen. She remembers evenings spent “dancing” like this, with Harry between them, one arm around each of their necks, and leaves no space between them because, if she did, it would ache for Harry to fill it.

James knows what she’s thinking without her saying it, and holds her just a little tighter for it, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, and Lily wraps her arms around his middle, pressing her head against his chest as she vainly searches for a heartbeat, some sign that would tell them both that this is a nightmare.

But there is none, and when she looks up, James’ eyes are brimming with tears.

“We’re not going back, Lil.” He says, slow and careful, before swallowing hard. “We’re dead.”

“We’re dead.” She repeats, the words feeling unreal and out of place as her tongue and teeth shape the letters into being, and hangs her head. “We’re dead.”

“But he isn’t.” James says, a hint of a smile sneaking onto his face, curving the edges of his lips upwards just slightly. “Harry’s going to save the world, just you watch.”

“He’s yours.” A chuckle bursts out of Lily, surprising her. “Of course he’ll run straight up to the danger.”

“And he’ll win, of course.” James replies, rolling his eyes, and she’s reminded of the sixteen year old she’d fallen for. “He is ours.”

“He is.” She whispers. “He’ll be okay.”

They both allow themselves to believe in those last few words, in each other, and hope they won’t lose anything for it.

But that is love’s greatest trick, Lily thinks years later, that you can trust so much in what you believe that you forget that others might not be what you remember them as, that your memories from years before may be colored by your feelings rather than fact, because if she thinks hard enough, she sees sneers and rolled eyes that her younger self had colored over in the shade of pink her sister was named for.

* * *

James takes her hand, once they have figured out this spying business, and they make their way into Number Four, Privet Drive, when Petunia and Vernon are asleep, just in case they can be seen. They climb the stairs together, hand in hand, wondering where their son is, and Lily nearly bursts into tears when she sees Harry in the crib beside her nephew.

Harry is awake, as he often is at night, and his eyes, Lily’s eyes, shine bright in the darkness as he surveys the room curiously. He seems to have grown in the week or so that they haven’t seen him, and the edges of two more teeth are peeking out from his gums as he babbles to the air he thinks is empty.

Lily frees her hand from James’ for a second to ruffle Harry’s hair and he looks straight through her, having felt his mother’s hand as a sudden gust of wind. “Harry, we love you. We love you so much.”

James hovers by the door for a second before joining her by their son’s crib, wanting so badly to throw him up into the air like Harry loves, wanting so badly to remind his son that there will always be someone there to catch him, that that someone will always answer to Dad whether Harry can see him or not, but nothing comes out. His lips feel like they are gummed shut, and sorrow blooms in him like the flowers that grew before the first frost hit the rainbow window box in Godric’s Hollow.

Harry reaches out for them, his chubby hand waving back and forth as he tries to find the source of this strange breeze, and Lily tries to take it before her fingers slip straight through his. She makes a noise halfway between choking and screaming and James bites his lip hard.

“He’s—He’s so smart, James, look, he knows we’re here.” Lily says, after a moment’s deliberation, and Harry giggles just a little too loudly in their direction. Dudley stirs, crying loudly in a way reminiscent of a foghorn, and Harry instantly falls silent at the sound of footsteps thundering down the hallway, eyes going wide with fear.

James and Lily, who disappear as if they were never there, don’t notice that it’s fear, and instead decide that it’s surprise, because sometimes the two things look too similar.

Sometimes, everyone misses the signs.

* * *

A little under two months later, it is Christmas, and James and Lily watch Dudley be carried around by the relatives and friends that Vernon has invited, watch him receive presents and be coddled like the little prince everyone thinks he is, while their child remains in the crib upstairs, already scared into silence.

They slip through the window and into the room, climbing the side of the house like they likely would have, as teenagers, to find Harry chewing on his fingers and looking about the room expectantly, as if waiting for someone to pick him up too. He watches the door as if wondering when his turn will come, and Lily’s heart breaks in her chest as she watches Harry play with the few chewed up toys that Dudley has left behind.

Harry looks more like James as he grows, his skin just a touch paler than usual from being kept inside so much, but Lily sees how James must have looked years before when Harry closes his eyes, rocking himself back and forth with a small smile on his face. It takes her a second to realize that Harry is mimicking the motion of them dancing in the kitchen, late at night, and she feels like the breath in her chest has been stolen, that the lump in her throat has expanded exponentially and blocked off her air supply.

James is the first to go up to the crib this time, the first to wrap his arms around Harry and whisper that it will be okay someday, that this is all just a giant mistake that will be fixed soon, darling, don’t worry. Harry seems to feel his father’s arms around him, tries to pat James’ arm to make him feel better, but his hand passes straight through his father’s embrace as he stares in confusion.

“Merry Christmas, buddy.” James whispers, wishing for any opportunity to just be close to Harry, to hold him and love him in all the ways he’d taken for granted until two months ago, but nothing happens. He is still a ghost, less than a ghost, really, and Harry is still alone here, for all he knows. “We love you.”

Lily steps forward to join him, drapes an arm around James’ waist as he leans forward to smile at Harry through the bars on his crib, hands gripping them tight as if he could tear them down.

“Merry Christmas, Harry.” She says, trying her best to keep her voice even despite the fact that she knows he can’t hear her. She remembers a baby that always knew when she was sad, that always had a smile for her no matter how he was feeling, remembers a soft brush of fingers across her cheek to wipe any tears she’d shed away. She remembers all of these things, knowing all the while that he will not, will never, and wonders what he will remember, when he is their age.

She wonders if he will know that he is loved, if he will have found someone who will think he is the sun, come in all his glory, to stay by their side, wonders if he will be happy. She wonders if he will still smile brightly enough to make the stars jealous, years from now, but all of those answers will come only with time.

All she knows now is that he will never remember them, never remember the two people who loved him more than themselves, and it burns in her chest.

* * *

By the next July, Harry is walking around the house more steadily than ever, barely ever tripping on anything, and even Petunia looks impressed by his command of speech, which is far better than Dudley’s. Dudley seems limited to crying and whining for things he wants, but Harry tells stories, looks people in the eye and weaves whole worlds together for them to follow him into.

He talks at length about his dreams to Petunia, a few babbled syllables inserted within sentences, and Lily is so proud of this smart son of hers, who is such a joy to everyone, and wishes she could hold him, wishes she could ask him questions and watch him smile before he answers.

No one here asks him questions.

They let him speak, sometimes, but always to himself or to a reluctantly held audience, and Harry starts drawing further and further into himself, as time goes on, and eventually, the chattering about his dreams slows to a stop. Harry always looks disheartened when he wakes up in the mornings, a look of resignation that is too old for his face plastered across it.

Harry looks happy, on the morning of July 31st, for once, but it fades when no one he can see sends a single smile his way.

He curls up in the same baby blanket he was sent to this house with nearly a year ago, and Lily cards fingers through his hair to help him sleep.

James rubs his back, pressing kisses to his son’s head, and wonders if his son still dreams.

* * *

The first time they see Vernon raise a hand against Harry, he is four years old and Vernon has walked in on him levitating Dudley’s blocks just out of reach.

Dudley, already wider than he is tall, is laughing, standing up and grabbing at the cubes as if they are bubbles, as Harry sends them higher and higher, tauntingly brushing one against the tips of his cousin’s fingers before moving them just as Dudley jumps to trap it in his fist.

“Potter!” Vernon nearly spits the name with disdain and the blocks fall like rain, the magic of the moment dissipating as quickly as it had come to life, and Harry’s breath comes fast and quick as he stands, walking over to Vernon. “None of that _freakiness_ around my son, boy!”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” Harry bows his head, even as Dudley speaks up.

“But Daddy, playing with Harry is fun!” Dudley huffs, now cross that the blocks are no longer floating. “Want to make the blocks fly like he does!”

Vernon grits his teeth, grabbing Harry by the neck of his hilariously oversized t-shirt, and Harry makes the mistake of yelping when Vernon pulls him up to eye level.

“Rubbing off on my son, are you?” He growls. “Freaks like you aren’t meant to be around good, normal people like Dudley.”

Lily and James watch from the stairwell as Harry’s few possessions are jammed into the cupboard under the stairs and their son is sent to sleep among cleaning chemicals and brooms. Harry is terrified of the dark, but proudly holds his shoulders straight as he’s shoved into the cupboard, handprint shaped bruises rising up all over him in black and blue.

They both slip through the now locked and bolted shut door, James kicking and screaming for justice as he pummels the door, while Lily settles down by Harry’s side as he wraps himself in the thin baby blanket that he was left there in. Andromeda Tonks had knitted him that blanket, and it had once been a soft baby blue. Now, after two years of near constant use and infrequent washing, it reeked, the formerly comforting color fading to a dull gray reminiscent of an overcast sky.

“Mummy?” Harry asks quietly, as he huddles close to the wall on the thin mattress they’ve allowed him in all their kindness, trying to conserve as much warmth as he can. It is December, now, and the heat that warms the rest of the house does not reach this little cupboard. Harry, unlike Dudley, hardly has enough meat on his bones to keep him warm, and the poor boy shudders as he builds himself a cocoon out of the blankets and rags that have been thrown here for his use.

“Yes, baby?” Lily replies, running her hand through his hair. Harry hums, as if he can feel her fingers, smiling softly. James stops kicking at the door to turn at the sound, rubbing roughly at his eyes. Lily looks up to James, trying her best to stay calm despite how much she wants to curse and hex Petunia and Vernon both to bits. “Mummy’s here, Harry.”

“I’m—I’m not a freak, right?” He looks almost ashamed of asking and Lily wants nothing more than to be able to hold him tight and steal him away from here, away from the people who hurt him for something he couldn’t even try to control. Her baby deserves better, so much better, than this sorry excuse of a home. He deserves her, and his father, and his uncles and Christmases and birthdays. He deserves what Dudley has and her heart _aches_ at the thought that he will never have it.

“No, darling, never.” She pets his head, hoping he will hear, and a slow smile spreads across his face.

“I bet you said no.” He whispers, rubbing his face against his hand for some semblance of comfort, and she places her hand over his free one. “Bet you love me lots still. You and Daddy too.”

“We do.” Lily says, tears streaming down her face, and James joins her, kneeling by the side of the mattress. “We love you so much, Harry, so much.”

“I bet”, Harry begins, eyes alight with some dream, before the shine dulls and he shakes his head. “Never mind.”

“We’ll give it all to you someday, I promise.” Lily chokes out. “Someday, you’ll get everything you missed. I promise. I promise.

“We promise.” James adds, wanting nothing more than to gather this boy up in his arms and steal him away. But Harry has to live, has to keep going, if this world wants to even have a chance, so he is forced to ask for a life that is not bad for his son, rather than to have him safe with his parents again. “We love you, Harry, forever and ever and ever.”

* * *

Harry discovers Petunia’s box of pictures when he is eight, digging out a photograph that has “Petunia and Lily, July 1967” scrawled on the back in the handwriting of the grandfather he was named for but never knew, and nearly drops it in surprise when he sees familiar green eyes staring back at him. “I have…”

His entire face lights up at the thought of having his mother’s eyes, and he traces her features with his fingers, trying to pick out anything of his that matches her, and James holds his son while he beams in glee.

“You’re just like her, you silly baby.” James nudges Harry’s head with his own. “Balls of sunshine despite everything else.”

Harry stuffs it in the pocket of his over sized trousers, currently held up by a length of rope, and tapes it on the wall of the cupboard beneath the sign that says “Harry’s Room” in green crayon with all the r’s backward later that night, smiling as he presses a kiss to his mother’s face.

“Night, Mum. Night, Dad.” He whispers, not knowing that his father is at his side even now, and falls asleep.

* * *

Harry draws himself a cake in the dust as Lily and James lie on either side of him like a sandwich, blowing out the candles as James ruffles his hair and Lily kisses his cheek.

“Our little Harry, eleven already.” James whistles. “Can you believe it?”

“We’re not old enough to have an eleven year old.” Lily shakes her head, chuckling. “Definitely not.”

“He’ll be off to Hogwarts soon enough, won’t he?” James throws an arm over Harry’s shoulders fondly before it slides straight through him. “Our little wizard.”

The door rattles then, drawing all three of them out of their thoughts, and Harry runs for the shadows as the door crashes to the floor even as James and Lily run at it on instinct. They know they won’t be able to stop this new evil from reaching their son, not in the form they are in now, and it is James who speaks first when the familiar form steps through the doorway, beard full of rain.

“Hagrid?” James’ face lights up. “Lily, they’re taking him! He’s safe!”

“He’s _safe_.” Lily whispers, reluctant to believe it, but when Hagrid gathers Harry up in his arms after giving him the first food Harry’s seen in days, she lets herself trust that her son is finally safe. That things will finally be okay.

And this time, for a short while, they actually are.

* * *

“Harry?” Lily calls hesitantly, and Harry, who no longer looks through them, but at them, smiles softly. That is her smile, on his face, although far more reserved and guarded than hers ever was, and she swallows hard. He is muddy and his clothes are ragged, from nearly a year of running around the English countryside, and he looks bone tired in a way a seventeen year old never should. He relaxes slightly as he recognizes them and she lets out a breath she’s been holding for fifteen years when he calls her Mum. “We love you.”

“I know.” He replies, confident, and James chuckles.

“Go get ‘em, son.” James says, pumping his fist. “Show those bastards what happens when you piss off a Potter, yeah?”

“I will.” Harry nods. “You’ll stay with me?”

“We always have.” Lily replies. “Right in your heart.”

“Okay.” Harry turns to face his death, and begins to walk. “I can do this, right?”

“Course you can.” James rolls his eyes. “You’re my kid. Running straight for evil’s pretty much our job, at this point.”

“Good point.” Harry laughs. “Good point.”


End file.
